The sky over Rotterdam was still dark when Dawit laced his boots one final time at Alexandria '66.
The locker room was quieter than usual. Empty, except for the steady hum of the lights and the soft rustle of his training bag. His fingertips brushed the red and white crest stitched into the corner of the wall faded with age but still proud.
This place had been his proving ground.
Every bruise, every sprint, every correction from Coach Jeroen had shaped him here.
Now, it was time to go.
He stood in the center of the room, staring at the spot where he had first sat as a stranger among teammates. It looked smaller now. Or maybe he had just outgrown it.
The door creaked open.
Hakeem walked in, hoodie slung over his shoulder and eyes heavy with sleep. But even through the fatigue, there was something else something harder to name.
"You really leaving, huh?" he asked.
Dawit nodded. "Today's the day."
They stood in silence for a moment.
"You earned it," Hakeem said finally. "Don't forget that."
"I won't," Dawit replied. "And I won't forget here either."
Hakeem scoffed, grinning. "You better not. I expect signed shirts and Champions League tickets."
They bumped fists. It wasn't goodbye not really. But it still hurt.
Coach Jeroen was waiting by the field when Dawit walked out.
He didn't say much. He never did.
But he held out his hand, and when Dawit took it, Jeroen held it longer than expected.
"You made the right people watch you," the coach said. "Now make them remember."
Dawit nodded. "I will."
"Don't let comfort kill your hunger."
He wouldn't. He couldn't.
He looked over the pitch one last time. The grass was damp with morning dew, same as always. But it looked different now like a photo being filed into memory.
Then he turned away.
It was time to go.
The train ride to Feyenoord's training complex was quiet, save for the soft rumble of the tracks beneath him. Dawit sat alone by the window, watching the city pass by in flickers bridges, canals, old brick buildings, rows of bicycles.
He kept one hand tucked in his jacket pocket, fingers curling slightly. His heart beat steady but quick.
He could feel it this wasn't just a step forward.
It was a leap.
"New challenge detected."
Amanuel's voice broke into his thoughts.
"Objective unlocked: Secure permanent training position with Feyenoord Academy. Progress will be tracked. Metrics: Tactical Adaptation, Physical Readiness, Coach Trust."
Dawit exhaled slowly.
Good. He didn't want it to be easy.
The train pulled to a stop.
He stepped off and followed the signs until the Feyenoord complex rose into view tall fences, clean turf, the club's iconic crest glinting on a steel gate.
This was it.
He walked through, heart in his throat, trying not to stare too long at the players already warming up on one of the side pitches. Their passes were sharp. Their movement fluid.
He wasn't the best here. Not yet.
But he would be.
At the reception, a man in a navy tracksuit stepped forward.
"You're Dawit Mehari?" he asked in crisp Dutch.
"Yes, sir."
"I'm Oscar. I'll be guiding you today. You're joining the U17s to start. Training session begins in thirty minutes. Get changed and be on Pitch 2."
Dawit nodded, gripping the strap of his bag tighter.
The locker room was cleaner, larger, and colder than the one at Alexandria '66. The players inside were older, taller. Their eyes flicked to him when he entered but only for a moment.
No one greeted him.
No one smiled.
This wasn't a family.
It was a test.
He changed in silence.
As he laced his boots, his pulse steadied. The doubts were still there buzzing like flies around the edge of his thoughts but he brushed them aside.
He was ready.
The session started fast.
No warm-up pleasantries, no easing in. Just rondos, possession drills, tight-space work with high tempo.
Coach Maas barked orders from the sideline sharp, demanding, relentless.
Dawit barely had time to catch his breath.
The ball zipped from player to player. Mistakes weren't scolded they were punished. A misplaced pass? Drop and sprint. Poor positioning? Benched.
But Dawit had prepared for this.
He pressed with intensity. Passed with confidence. Covered gaps others missed.
And then, it happened.
A loose ball ricocheted from a challenge. Everyone else hesitated.
Dawit didn't.
He stepped forward, slid cleanly, and came up with possession before anyone could react. One touch. Two. Quick pass to reset play.
Coach Maas whistle shrieked.
He pointed directly at Dawit.
"Again. Start from him."
The drill reset. This time, all eyes were on him.
He didn't blink.
By the end of the session, sweat clung to Dawit's shirt like armor. His muscles burned, his calves screamed but inside, he was alive.
He had held his own.
More than that he had stood out.
As the players walked off, some began to nod at him. Just slightly.
Recognition. The beginning of respect.
Oscar met him by the sideline.
"Van Dijk wants you back tomorrow," he said. "Same time."
Dawit nodded, chest rising and falling steadily.
He wasn't on the team yet.
But he had taken his first step.
That night, back in his room, Dawit sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the quiet flicker of the screen in front of him.
Amanuel's voice returned.
"Feyenoord Trial – Day 1 complete.Coach Impression: 63%Tactical Rating: 61Physical Rating: 65Consistency Challenge: Ongoing.Status: Promising Prospect."
It was a start.
But he wasn't here to be promising.
He was here to be undeniable.
He lay back, eyes tracing the ceiling.
Tomorrow would be harder.
And that's exactly what he wanted.
The gates of Varkenoord, Feyenoord's famed academy, loomed ahead like a threshold into another world. Dawit stood at the entrance in his clean training gear, the club crest stitched proudly over his heart. The morning wind bit at his cheeks, but he barely noticed. His entire body buzzed with adrenaline.
This is it.
The fields stretched out before him, pristine and quiet in the early light. But Dawit knew this place would roar to life soon, filled with the voices of players clawing for a future. Only the best survived here. Feyenoord's academy didn't hand out opportunities they demanded them to be earned.
Amanuel's voice chimed in his ear, calm and clinical.
"Training Facility Detected: Feyenoord Academy – Varkenoord. Intensity Level: High. Challenge Modifier Applied: Elite Environment."
"Temporary stat adjustment: +2 Awareness, +1 Agility. Duration: 2 hours."
Dawit's breath caught for a second.
Even the system knew this place wasn't like Alexandria '66. This wasn't just a step up it was a leap across a chasm.
A tall figure emerged from the far end of the pitch, walking toward him with deliberate strides. Mid-50s, stocky frame, silver streaks in his close-cropped hair. His eyes were sharp and measured, like someone who had seen a thousand hopefuls before and wasn't easily impressed.
"Hendrik Maas," the man said, offering a handshake. "You're the Alexandria kid."
Dawit shook his hand firmly. "Yes, sir."
Coach Maas studied him for a second longer. "Coen rarely asks for favors. When he does, I listen. But don't confuse his interest for a guarantee. You'll train here today with our U17s. If you belong, you'll show it."
"I understand."
Maas nodded, then motioned toward the locker rooms. "You've got fifteen minutes. Kit up. Then out here. No delays."
Inside, the atmosphere was different from anything Dawit had known. The locker room was quieter, colder. Players tied their boots, wrapped their wrists, and eyed each other not with friendliness, but calculation. No one cracked jokes or made small talk. Everyone had something to prove, and the arrival of a new face only sharpened that edge.
A few heads turned when Dawit entered, but no one spoke to him. He found an open locker, changed silently, and tied his boots with steady hands.
This is where you belong. This is what you asked for.
When he stepped onto the pitch, the sun had climbed just enough to throw long shadows across the grass. Coach Maas stood at the center circle, flanked by two assistant coaches, clipboard in hand.
"All right," Maas called out. "Warm-up rounds. No half-pace. Let's move."
The group broke into a jog. Dawit fell into rhythm, his stride smooth, scanning the others out of the corner of his eye. Most of them were taller, broader, and clearly more accustomed to this level. But Dawit had one thing they didn't:
Perspective.
He had lived a football life once. And he wouldn't waste his second.
The drills started immediately after warm-ups. Quick-passing circuits. Possession boxes. One-touch sequences under pressure. Everything moved faster than anything Dawit had done at Alexandria.
But he adjusted.
He kept his body open when receiving the ball, checked his shoulder constantly, moved the ball quickly and cleanly. When others pressed too hard, he used tight touches to spin away. He didn't try to be flashy he just made the right decision, over and over.
During a rondo, one of the midfielders a tall kid with slicked-back hair named Daan nudged Dawit harder than necessary during a challenge.
"Try to keep up, Alexandria," Daan muttered.
Dawit didn't answer. He just intercepted the next pass and flicked it back through Daan's legs to the outside.
A few of the players chuckled. Daan's face twisted.
Coach Maas watched everything in silence. He didn't bark instructions like Jeroen did. His coaching came in the form of observation. Notes. Judgment.
After nearly an hour of drills, Maas blew the whistle.
"Water break. Five minutes. Then match simulation."
Dawit grabbed his bottle and walked to the side, taking slow sips. His shirt clung to his back with sweat, but his breathing was controlled.
Amanuel's voice returned, more assertive now.
"Short-term stat boost activated. Momentum recognized. +3 Positioning, +1 Stamina. 30-minute duration."
"Objective: Impress coaching staff in match scenario. Bonus XP available."
Dawit set his bottle down, jaw clenched.
Let's go, then.
The squads split for the match. Dawit was placed as a holding midfielder in a 4-3-3 a position he had grown to love. It was the role that required vision, discipline, and calm. All things he had sharpened since his return.
Coach Maas watched from the sideline, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
The game kicked off at a blistering pace.
Within seconds, Dawit was pressed by two opponents. He faked a back pass, slipped through the gap, and played the ball wide to the right winger.
Simple. Efficient. No waste.
Five minutes later, he tracked a runner into the box, intercepted the pass cleanly, and launched a counterattack with a single vertical ball through midfield.
Ten minutes in, he switched play with a long diagonal pass that dropped perfectly onto the left winger's foot.
+10 XP – Vision and Execution+5 XP – Interception+3 XP – Successful Progressive Pass
The opposing team began to press harder. Dawit welcomed it. The faster they came, the sharper he became.
He shouted instructions, called switches, directed the tempo. It wasn't just about playing anymore.
It was about leading.
And then it happened.
Ball bouncing loose at the edge of the penalty area. The striker reached it first and tried to cut inside but Dawit was already there.
A clean tackle. No foul. The ball popped loose.
Dawit recovered it, took one glance upfield, and launched a low driven ball between two lines of pressure, hitting his teammate in stride.
The assistant coach scribbled something. Coach Maas leaned forward.
+15 XP – Elite Recovery and Distribution"Notable Action: Match Intelligence registered. Coach Observation Level increased."
When the final whistle blew, Dawit was drenched in sweat, heart pounding but he stood tall. He didn't need a scoreboard to know how he'd done.
The players clapped hands, some more reluctant than others. Daan walked past him without a word.
Coach Maas approached slowly.
"You read the game well," he said. "Didn't force things. That's rare for someone your age."
Dawit met his gaze. "I've made the mistake of forcing it before."
Maas gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. "Report here again tomorrow. Same time."
No praise. No guarantees.
But an invitation.
That was enough.
As Dawit left the field, his legs burning and mind racing, Amanuel's voice returned.
"Milestone achieved: First Elite Training Session Completed."+30 XPAttribute Growth Unlocked: Tactical Awareness +1, Composure +1Standing with Feyenoord Academy: Neutral → Noticed
And deep in his chest, Dawit felt it:
The fire was growing.